12 AM Eternal
by Frosty Autumn
Summary: What do a retired Marine, a competitive gymnast, a reclusive painter, and a man with commitment issues have in common? Absolutely nothing. Fate has chosen them...if Fate's name was The Scarecrow. When four ordinary people find themselves in Scarecrow's experimental nightmare, a world he has dubbed 12 A.M Eternal, they must find a way out, or risk staying in the nightmare forever.
1. A World Born

Crane held his concoction up to the light. He frowned after careful analysis. It still retained it's beige, marginally off-white tone. No, no, no, it wouldn't do to have a detectable hue. Lowering the beaker closer to his face, he wafted the air near it's glass mouth towards his nose and sniffed oh-so-delicately. With precision, as if expecting the result, he quickly grimaced and held the beaker away, blinking rapidly to dispel the dancing white spots that were soon forming into grotesque shapes in front of his eyes.

The effect was satisfactory, but there was an underlying hint of ammonia in the scent. Odd. He didn't recall ammonia ever being an ingredient of the formula. He set the beaker down on the table, wondering if it was possible to neutralize the odor without jeopardizing the toxin's full effect.

The heat in the room was near unbearable. He dragged the sleeve of his protective lab coat across his slick forehead. The toxin's components could be rendered useless should a drop of his sweat fall in, the desired effect could be changed. But the stuffiness of the room wasn't without benefits. It was being quite useful for tests; experimenting the toxin's reaction or lack thereof to temperature could prove detrimental to it's shelf life and portability in the field. Fahrenheit or Celcius, the goal was for the formula to still work to its full potential in any extreme.

The plan had been in motion for near three months now. Endless nights spent toiling in this very room, failed experiment after failed experiment, finally culminating into this one moment. His magnum opus soon to become a reality. And reality was the big name of the game. The hallucinations contained inside this ordinary beaker, diluted within an innocent-looking liquid that was in truth so potent that it could break the mind within minutes of unrelenting exposure. His newest strain of fear toxin was a transport. A transport to not a state of being, but a state of world, a landscape that reached farther than mere monsters dancing before one's face.

The only components left for the final test were subjects, always a necessary gear in the machine, to be rounded up. Though _captured_ would perhaps be a more accurate term. Willing or unwilling was of little importance, though Crane would admit to preferring unwilling better. Results were more pure that way.

A name for the improved formula would only be decorative, a cosmetic addition that would neither add nor detract. But Crane wanted to make it sound official, induct it into the annals of his mind by the christening of a title. A debut of sorts. There was only one name he felt could give this world the justified, accurate reputation it deserved.

12 A.M Eternal.


	2. The Players

Levi Martin felt the cold, wet, abrasive ground before anything else—especially on the sensitive underside of his forearms and the back of his scalp. His cropped-close hairstyle invited the moistened chill to spread further than just surface contact.

He rolled his tight shoulders and groaned, raising a hand to his forehead for some sort of stability, and to stem an imagined, dizzying motion. His arm felt heavy and the sensation disoriented him until he realized that gravity was working against him. He was lying on his back. If his body weren't lying on a flat surface, he could have sworn he was floating.

"What...?" he rasped groggily, gritting his teeth. Even his eyelids felt heavy, but he forcefully opened them out of necessity; something was wrong. His blurred vision went in and out thanks to the fluttering, but he was seeing light. Washed out orange light coming from somewhere above.

"What the hell...?" he moaned airily.

Levi turned his neck sideways, expecting a creak of pain that would somehow explain his baffling predicament, but the movement turned out to be surprisingly easy, like he wasn't hurt at all. Carefully rolling over onto his elbow, he bit back a tired grunt—learned by years of training. He held three fingers up to his nostrils to check for blood. His fingertips came back dry, and so did his well-groomed beard and moustache. He checked his exposed arms. Blood wouldn't really stand out on his dark skin in such dimness, but after inspection he didn't find a single scratch on him.

He could feel water seep through the rolled up sleeve of his denim button-down. He mindlessly wiped at a blotchy water stain to dry off the excess, more habit than necessity.

He took in his surroundings to make out some sort of sense, and...nothing but dull, muted orange. Levi's heart seized from the strange environment. He blinked rapidly to rid himself of that single color, for he feared he had come under some type of bizarre blindness in which his eyes only registered one hue and none else. No matter how he shook his head, however, it did not fade, did not clear.

He glanced upward for some sort of respite. A hazy, bright spot glowed from above, sending off a spotlight that faded out until blending with the majority. Levi found another similar orb twenty-five feet further down. And another after it. He looked over his shoulder and saw yet another just behind him, not to mention a row. Streetlamps.

Clenching his abs, Levi heaved himself into a sitting position to allow a better vantage point. Those orbs _were_ streetlamps; he could now make out the darker, old-fashioned wooden poles they were attached to, faded and hiding just out of sight. Casting his gaze down, the glimmer of wet pavement peeked between his legs. He swivelled his head in every direction possible, and would have imitated an owl had his neck had the capacity. Somehow, some way, Levi had found himself smack dab in the middle of a foggy, empty, two-lane road.

A trickle of anxiety spilled in his blood. He didn't recognize this place at all, but most importantly, he didn't know how he came to be there. And if he didn't get there on his own, who abandoned him? After living more than a decade in his current house with his family, he knew every shape and bend and crack of his own neighborhood to know that this one was not his.

Streetlight bled into the misty atmosphere, helping the glow spread further than it would have with the assistance of any other weather phenomena. Levi crushed the heel of his palm into his forehead, desperate to remember what happened last before he woke up here.

Gingerly, the first thing he did was rise onto his feet, swiping stuck gravel off the seat of his pants. The last thing he needed was to be roadkill on top of everything else. His wife was in no way going to appreciate where he found himself in the middle of the night. He enjoyed the occasional drink with his buddies at the bar, but he consciously made certain he never drank until complete blackout.

The clincher to Levi's predicament, however, was that he hadn't been to the bar in a week.

"Hello?" he said tepidly.

The void was quiet.

Though it was clear the hour was nighttime, Levi couldn't make heads or tails if the sun had been closer to setting, or closer to rising. Raising his wrist to his face, he squinted past the glared glass of his dial sports-watch.

Twelve midnight.

* * *

All Amber Dunkle knew was that she found herself on a double lane street in the middle of a foggy night. No markings on the road. No cars. No people. The pavement glistened wet in the dewy air, reflecting warped areas of artifical orange from the streetlamps.

She didn't arrive in this place standing, but when her blue eyes snapped awake staring at an overcast, nighttime sky, and absorbed an unfamiliar territory, she was on her feet faster than if the street sent an electric jolt up her spine. Her wheat-blond hair, pulled back in a sleek, straight ponytail, wheeled behind her as she briskly half-jogged, half-pivoted every so often down the road in search of some hint of civilization. She swore, though, that the time had been somewhere in the afternoon last she remembered.

She halted to a standstill, massaging her forehead to soothe her racing, increasingly puzzled mind, attempting to get all of her memories in order. She recalled she'd been on her way to a gymnastics showcase at Jezebel Plaza. Parked her car in an underground garage. Got out. Locked the door, and then...blank. Nothing surfaced afterwards. Any transition between a grey underground-garage and a blaze of streetlamp orange was missing.

Heart dropping, Amber hurriedly patted her hoodie's pockets for her car keys. Each pressed flat. Was she targeted for her car? Whoever stole it had to have also abandoned her here. Dread froze Amber's blood. She glanced all around herself again, as if monstrous, otherworldly creatures were waiting just beyond her sight in the fog, waiting to encircle her. She didn't recognize this road anywhere in Gotham—that was, if she still was in Gotham.

A tickle brushed her shoulder. With a shrill gasp she whipped around, more on instinct than actually wanting to confront whatever was out there with her.

There was nothing behind her. Nothing but a long stretch of road that disappeared into the misty, tangerine night. The creepy-crawly feeling on her shoulder was too much to take. She reached back, grabbing blindly for whatever touched her. She was met with the pin tips of her hair. She lowered her shoulders in only mild relief. The paranoid feeling of being watched did not leave.

The temperature was mildly cool, but the chill of the unknown was rattling her bones. She yanked up the white zipper of her red hoodie up to her throat. Even if it would do nothing to warm her tension, it benefitted her psychologically by feeling covered, unexposed. Her calves in her black capri-cut leggings were out of luck, though.

Being so petite, even at eighteen years of age, Amber stayed on high alert. A life spent learning gymnastics kept the body limber, but it was certainly no self-defence preparation course. If anything, gymnastics taught her to sprint until her peripheral blurred, and she was ready at a millisecond's notice.

* * *

The sound of Deanna Baumbach's sprinting resonated heavily on the wet pavement. The soles of her bare feet burned from the rocky scrape of the terrain, but she was in the midst of a full-blown anxiety attack that left her debilitatingly numb. An overwhelming urge begged her body to curl up into a ball and agonize, but she was already in the flight stage, she had to leave. She had to. She had to keep running. Nothing was chasing her, she could stop on a dime and fall to the ground any second she wanted, but her legs quivered with such adrenaline that she was liable to explode if at a standstill.

Every footfall pushed up an uncontrolled, frightened whimper from her chest. Her chin wrinkled as she blubbered in terror. She had no idea where she was—though no matter where she happened to be in Gotham currently, her safe, warm home may as well have been on the other side of the world.

Afraid of tripping on the hem of her brown peasant skirt, she crushed sections in her fists, bunching them against her thighs. Her fluffy, deep brown hair bounced in her wake, thumping between her shoulder blades in a most unpleasant way that did nothing ease her scorching nerves. The shoulders of her garishly overlarge, dark grey sweatshirt leaned to one side, exposing her black tank-top strap and a portion of her clavicle that heaved with her excessive breaths.

There was a huge gap in her memory, that much she knew. It had to have been huge, considering it was noon when she braved leaving the house for an errand. Her parents were both still at work, she thought she could try it again without supervision. It was just going to be an easy one this time. Deanna had slowly been learning to integrate back into the world, her therapist said to start off slowly. After many months of repetition and slowly expanding her boundary little by little each time, Deanna could now make short, cautious excursions without the onset of a panic attack.

Every bit of her progress drained the instant she found herself on that dimly-lit road, all alone. It was a bad idea to leave the house, she knew something bad would happen to her again, and she was paying for it in a way only her worst fears could have imagined. Though no imminent threat was visible in the eerie nighttime mist, none so similar as the time she had the misfortune to visit the bank on that particular day years ago, Deanna felt just as riled, tight, and wound-up as when the man in a black ski-mask pointed the gun to her head.

* * *

The sensation of weight in his clasped arms, supported by his lap, was the first thing Casey Glenn was aware of. Before even thinking of opening his eyes, he stirred uncomfortably. Automatic instinct kept him from letting go of the gentle but noticeable heft he was, for some reason, holding onto.

Even though there wasn't the slightest hint of wind, he knew he was outdoors; there was a very low hum in the air, the rustic kind that wasn't bound by man-made walls.

His head lulled forward and he startled awake, his heart kickstarting like a motorcycle engine. The large roots of an oak tree crested the ground on either side of him. The color of the dead grass was washed out by a streetlight nearby.

Baffled by the feeling of weight, Casey glanced downward at the load in his arms. He gasped and his legs kicked back, the tree at his back acting as a barrier to keep him from going anywhere. A little baby's face, sleeping in complete tranquility, peeked from a bundle of soft, white cotton sheets wrapped around it with care.

Casey had enough sense of mind to not release in shock. Fighting hard to still his spike of anxiety, he stared down at the baby. It was all he could do. Had he unconsciously kidnapped it? God, he hoped not. Did he save it? Did he find it? He glanced upward to the canopy of branches and darkly green leaves hovering over the two, as if the answer would be there. No. It wasn't making sense to have done this on his own. Somebody left him there, and in turn, also ladened him with the mysterious child. He pondered if perhaps he and the little one were both the unfortunate victims of a kidnapping gone wrong and were subsequently bailed on.

Due to such a bizarre circumstance, he started questioning his memory, as though he didn't know his reality anymore. The more his eyes adjusted to the stark change in environment from where he last remembered, his situation began to seem more and more like one of those painfully realistic dreams, the kind in which it took maybe a full half hour after waking to discover that the dream's events never happened.

The last thing he recalled was parking in a car lot, on his way to Jezebel Plaza to buy some lightbulbs, until his vision went black and he found himself sitting against the lumpy bark of the tree.

The baby stirred, arching its little chest, hiccupped sweetly, and then stilled in it's slumber again. Couldn't have been more than five months old.

Casey's arms numbed, shooting a discomfort that spread across his shoulders. He twitched, desperate to hand off the child to somebody more responsible, more able to care for it until the police could be notified. There was no hint of civilization anywhere, though, except for the single two-lane street to his left.

Casey watched the night sky with a growing sense of unease. The place was so otherworldly, in a paranoid sense. It looked normal. In fact, it was normal. But the lack of people, or cars, or even a visible house made the area appear desolate, like the road went on forever in the distance, stuck in a constant cycle of lamplight giving birth to another mile the more one tried to reach the end.

Using the most precise, delicate movements he could make, all the while watching the baby's face for signs of disturb, Casey cradled it in one arm and braced the other on the tree behind him for stability. He rose carefully from his sitting position. The last thing he needed was to soothe a screaming baby without the necessary tools, such as bottles or pacifiers.

Casey descended the lawn's dipping bank, stepping onto the sidewalk right underneath the spotlight of a streetlamp. He searched his right, and then his left. Sighing heavily, he raked a hand through his limp brown hair dumbfoundedly. If he just knew where he was in Gotham, he could navigate. Checking on the baby one more time, he tugged up a section of blanket to fashion a small hood over it's tiny head and reluctantly held the little thing closer to his chest, determined at least to keep it safe until he could flag down some help.

He started down the sidewalk, looking for a street sign.

* * *

**A/N:**** This story idea came to me while I was vacationing in Costa Rica back in February. Yeah, figure that one out...**

**Sorry about the delay to anybody who was waiting on this. I'm juggling three stories right now, and, as I predicted, it ended up being a bad idea to start so many at once, but of course I decided to go along with anyway. Because I not so smart, you see.**

**Don't worry, though! None are on the backburner, I'm still commited to presenting each one, including this one. Thanks, Johanna Crane, for making me remember there were people still interested in this one and giving me that necessary kick in the butt. And thanks to killakenny and Fef for being the first to be interested :D**


	3. The Arena

Crane's basement was a dingy place; there was no drywall cover on the dusty cinderblocks containing the space, and the floor was given minimal treatment. It was just a slab of smoothed concrete that rebelled with a long crack or two. The lights were far from decorative, just two bare, filmy bulbs hanging from the ceiling, controlled by ball-chains dangling next to them. Their incandescent glow barely reached the room's four dim corners. But it wasn't cobwebby niches that needed the illumination, anyway. All that was necessary was that the bulbs were placed towards the center of the basement, right where they were needed.

Not that his guests would be any less impressed by the living conditions. Their states left little allowance to retain much of their surroundings, much to Crane's pleasure.

All four of his new pets were set-up and already prepared, lying on surgical steel gurneys, positioned side by side in order of the diminutive blonde woman, the black man, the frazzled brunette, and the second man, younger than the first. Crane paced down the row, each of his specimens upside-down to his perspective. He noticed the blonde's head had gravitationally lolled sideways, her lips parted. Touching his long, spindly fingers to her cheeks, Crane gracefully righted her back into starting position.

_Now_ they were perfect. Helplessly perfect.

Thunder rumbled outdoors. Lightning flashes couldn't be seen through the boarded window, but Crane could hear most of what went on beyond it.

He left the gurneys for a moment to revisit his lab table where he'd deposited their licenses and other forms of identification they carried. He cared little of their identities, who they were, or even their monikers. It was just a formality to record their names so to differentiate them in his notes besides using physical traits.

Amber. Levi. Deanna. Casey.

Randomized was the way to go, picking his guinea pigs out of a crowd.

Each were flat on their backs, arms neatly to their sides. None of these people were likely to know each other. The methods chosen to nurture them through life would be different, thus making them unique enough from the other to allow for more dispersed traits, likewise thus expanding the breadth of his results. For control's sake, the subjects were harnessed to their gurneys by two brown leather belt-straps, one cutting across the chest, the other maintaining the pelvic area. Crane expected quite a bit of thrashing at certain points, and it wouldn't do to constantly march over to heave their dead weight back into place.

Their bodies remained clothed, save for the removal of their shoes, the brunette's over-sized sweatshirt, and the hoodies belonging to the younger man and the blonde woman, leaving them in their t-shirts. It was necessary that their hands be entirely exposed in order for Crane to keep note on the frequency of muscle spasm. Facial twitches were the most telling, but extremities such as the fingers and toes had a beautiful harmony all their own. That minimalistic jolt of the bones beneath the skin gave a satisfying solidity where eyelids and lips could not.

Of course, movements based on sight alone were not the only thing he would rely on. Outdated but still reliable heart monitors were hooked up to them, the machines supported on wheel trays, one to each gurney's left side. Just some hospital surplus from one that didn't need them anymore.

Best of all, his special four were unable to wake. Paradoxically, that also made them ignorant of just how lucky they really were to be the firsts. Had it not been necessary to induce sleep during the experiment process, Crane would have almost thought it unfortunate that the strangers couldn't physically see it all unfold for themselves. Then again, entrapment within their mind sounded positively appealing to him. No escape was a good thing.

This was the monumental test, the maiden voyage of his new, most potent serum to date, and they were the chosen. The horrors they'd theoretically face were not stronger, they were stealthier—not watered down in the slightest. Smarter. It would be an even bigger psychological test than any strain Crane created before it. The dread of awaiting the next wave of one's corporealized nightmares could be just as agonizing as the actual onset. He could already imagine through their mind's eyes them begging with body-seizing anticipation to just let their fears manifest, just to stop the ache of knowing that they were doomed anyway.

12 AM Eternal's chemical structure made it difficult for the body to flush out naturally within an hour or two. Potentially, one singular dose contained the energy to accelerate the effects for many weeks, maybe even months. Crane didn't even really know its official shelf life just yet. Oxygen revitalized the toxin and extended its hold on the subject's red blood cells, which in turn kept the toxin circulating through the system.

_Eternal_ was not just a fancy tack-on. Theoretically, the contagion really could last an eternity, given that the subject's body is preserved from the outside—which was why Crane also obtained IV drips to take care of the perenteral nutrition factor. It wouldn't do to have the four strangers starve to death during this expectedly long process, thus ending his experiment for good. He supervised the clear, hanging bags and the needle connections to their veins one more time to be certain they were in proper working order.

He took a reflective step back to admire all his hard work coming to fruition, raking back dangling strands of sandy brown from his eyes. His hair was getting to be a little longer than he liked, but time was of the essence, of course. He didn't even possess the time to realize how far the length had gotten away from him.

Three months it took to get to this point. Not to get ahead of himself, but gaining the clearance to finally see his hard work in action was nothing short of glorious. Just before this official launch, his initial tests on lab mice had concluded with an unfortunate side-effect of brain swelling, but Crane was sure he'd been able to alter the formula successfully. His special four had no need to worry.

From the outside, of course.

He surveyed his subjects hungrily. He felt an urge to brush away the mousy brunette's bangs as a mockery of the soothing caretaker role, but he put away that inkling so to put his hands to better use on checking her heart monitor. After all, Crane was their only caretaker right now, whether they liked it or not. They were at _his_ mercy. He could choose, if he be so willing, to abandon the house at any moment, stranding each of them to their induced comas, leaving them perpetually stuck in a cycle of neverending fear for as long as their bodies could withstand.

Their blank, sleeping faces were serene for the moment, but not entirely strain-free. Minor tension was tightening each of their eyelids, indicated by the very fine lines cracking the delicate skin there, implying a non-peaceful sleep.

Crane tried to subdue the thrilling skip in his normally monotone heart. 12 AM Eternal's first phase was _active_. He had doled out their first doses intravenously ten minutes earlier, and clearly it didn't take long for the tell-tale signs to start revealing themselves. Panic onset had begun.

Crane's underused facial muscles stretched with a small, rigid, but pleased smile, only as wide as he would allow himself. Time was of the essence. He had to get to his desk and record these initial results immediately, he _needed_ to study them, there was no time for self-congratulation.

The large machine's monitors were primitive, like early radar. Black served as the screen's backdrop color, while the images showed themselves in an electronic green. Crane couldn't see their hallucinations play out like a T.V. program, but judging by their vital signs feeding into the machine, shaping the images to display high stress, or the activation of certain recesses in the brain which controlled specific functions, he'd be able to fill in the blanks where visuals could not.

The machine's history was a short-lived one. Its purpose was to assist in the visual animation of dreams through a monitor. It never got past its bulky prototype stage. The majority of the funding went into a sleeker design, and then all news went dark afterward. Funding dried up, and the prototype was moved into storage. Crane found little wrong with putting it to good use. A couple streets toughs on his payroll moved it, piece by piece, from the dusty storage basement of a dying, dwindling hospital, and brought it to an only slightly less dusty home. It was even given a name back then: the doltishly uncreative_ Dream Machine_, so named for the kitschy rhyme, Crane was sure.

Fixed on a flexible stem, the device came with an attached microphone, currently sitting in its cradle at the side of the cabinet, close to the control panel for easy access. Its intention was to be used to test what amount of suggestibility an outside voice would have on the subject's dream and whether it was possible to manipulate them from the outside. The microphone user's voice would transmit to the subject via earsets. Subjects tended to shift multiple times in their sleep, as was typical, so the earsets had to be designed to stay put. They wrapped behind the ear shell to hold the foam speaker in place over the ear canal.

If it weren't for their civilian clothing, the four strangers looked as though they were merely being prepped for surgery. Cords and tubes spilled from their wrists like exposed wiring, as if they were cyborgs in need of rerouting. In a sense, they were about to be rerouted—by way of the brain.

Even when no one was watching, Crane sought more than anything to retain some semblance of professionalism whilst enacting his experiments, but that tight smile reappeared as he looked down on them all. He was almost gleeful at the unlikelihood of any of them being the same again. How he lamented not possessing the ability or the equipment to see through their eyes. Technology had yet to make such a breakthrough, but the Machine was the closest he would get.

Thunder boomed relentlessly beyond the basement's border, so hard that Crane felt the rumble in the cement floor. It vibrated up the bones in his feet and crawled through his ankles. He glanced above his spectacle lenses, irked at the disruptive weather.

Then there was nothing but stark black.

Before Crane could react or even inhale, the lights suddenly returned, blazing brighter for a split second due to the kick-back, then whirred down to their natural output.

The back-up generator worked to perfection. His quick scan of the monitors showed uninterrupted feeds.


	4. Let The Game Begin

Levi tapped his fingers over his thighs. "Okay, okay," he exhaled to himself in reassuring puffs, "No problem."

Talking out loud to oneself when lost seemed illogical, but there was a reason why the majority of people did it; oddly, it focused the mind. He absent-mindedly tugged at the rolled up cuff of his sleeve, a habit he had when on edge. Whenever he experienced that kind of low-dwelling, tense energy, it needed an outlet to go somewhere or else it would cloud his brain, keep his judgement from tip-top form—so sleeves it was. This time wasn't any different.

The night felt like those tolerable kinds that brought just a hint of a chill, but to Levi the air was quite mild, not even balmy considering the obvious moisture in the air.

The mist appeared a tad thinner than it was approximately a minute ago, though he wasn't certain whether or not that was due to his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Shadowy, stationary shapes of all sizes leered from behind the gauzy curtain, many just several feet in front of him. Houses? Trees?

Somehow he preferred when the fog was as thick and evenly spread as icing.

* * *

The sidewalk seemed like one long, strictly rigid strip that stretched on forever. The fog cluster ahead gradually swallowed it whole, leaving Casey to easily imagine just a solid wall at the visible end. The sidewalk was currently doing a great impression of those motorized floors at the airport. Casey felt like he was traveling north on a south-operating conveyor belt walkway; nothing passing by indicated that he was making any progress. He almost wished the ground was at least a motorized walkway so that he could just coast while dedicating his full effort and attention searching for a signpost. Until then, he just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The baby weakly grunted with its tiny lungs.

"Shh," said Casey awkwardly, bouncing the bundle so lightly that it seemed like he wasn't motioning at all. He didn't want to disturb it too much and make things worse. "It's okay, we'll find your mommy and daddy soon."

He knew the baby wouldn't understand his words, they were more a comfort to him than anything else. Of all things to be left with, it _had_ to be a baby!

White was typically a gender-neutral color. And that was what the baby was clad in head-to-toe—just all white, including the flannel onesie underneath the layer of blanket that he peeled back just to check. Not even a monogrammed name, which he thought would have been all the rage with parents these days.

Even after a hollow minute of strictly keeping to the path, the murk still would not give up a single address or direction. The length of sidewalk he was able to see had even stretched out further; the mist appeared to be gradually lifting. At least something was being helpful.

* * *

A greyish shape was emerging out of the cloud, keeping to the sidewalk. The figure's walk was casual, but not aloof, Levi noted. There was clearly an end goal to where they were going. The person then stopped, turning left and right as if looking for something.

"Excuse me!" Levi hollered to get the figure's attention. He raised his hand and waved emphatically to signal. "Hey!"

The figure spun around. Spotting Levi, it leaned forward as if squinting, and appeared to be a little bulky around the chest area. Levi then discovered that it was the figure's elbows; he or she was carrying something. Items from an errand?

Though approaching strangers in the dead of night on a lonely stretch of road wasn't the most ideal of circumstances, he knew he had very few viable options otherwise. Optimistic, but keeping caution dead within his sights, he jogged up to the stranger as non-threateningly as possible.

Face-to-face, the stranger appeared to be a young man, with floppy brown hair parted in the middle, and a freshly good-looking face in a teen hearthrob kind of way; Levi could easily picture the kid's face on a poster in his nine-year-old's room.

* * *

Casey stood stoic. Though he'd been hoping for some help, it helped to remain wary in front of this stranger. Afterall, who in their right mind (besides himself, he reminded) would be wandering around at this time of night?

The imposing man's black stubble beard and moustache combo was so pristinely groomed that it would have been no surprise if a measuring ruler had been involved. Altogether, the image said agreeable but to a point, as in liable to kick your ass into nonexistence should lines be crossed. It was an image that would take nothing beneath respect, and Casey would oblige.

* * *

"Hey, man," said Levi amiably, clapping his hands together casually and wringing them together, "So, long story short, I'm kinda lost right now. I'd really appreciate it if you could give me some directions."

Casey blinked his blue eyes dumbfoundedly. _Dammit_, he thought harshly. Someone finally came along, but they weren't going to be of much help. "Wish I could, bud, but uhhh..I'm kinda needing some myself."

"You mean you're lost, too?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Hmf. Small world."

Both men were at a loss for how to proceed. The most progress they'd made was add an additional member to their own respective parties.

Casey sighed heavily, puffing his cheeks. "I assume you don't live here either. You didn't happen to find a street sign, have you?"

"Not a one."

They both turned silent again, scanning the area as if something new was bound to appear any second now, something they'd missed before.

Levi noticed the cotton bundle and inclined his head toward it. "That your kid?"

"Huh?" Casey looked down as if he'd forgotten his delicate cargo. "Oh, _no_, no, no, I'm not a dad."

Levi paused a beat. "Nephew? Niece."

Casey shook his head. "No." He suddenly appeared rather agitated, something Levi found odd. "Look, man, I don't know what's went on in the last few hours with me, but...I have no idea what happened. I don't even know if it's a girl or a boy, or who he or she belongs to, I don't know this kid."

Levi's paused yet again. A small, nearly undetectable tautness hardened his features and his shoulders squared. The conversation suddenly got very serious very soon. "What do you mean you don't know this kid?"

Casey felt rather small all of a sudden, like he was under an interrogator's lamp. "Now hold on, I know this looks bad, but I swear, I didn't kidnap it. Or, at least, I don't think I did."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Levi's demeanor transformed from neutrality to suspicion. He knew from experience that a continuously stoic manner was more off-putting than assertiveness would be. "You don't _think_ you did?" he probed.

Suddenly those muscles didn't look like they were just for show. Casey knew the man would have been ready to pluck the baby right out his arms if he uttered just one more questionable statement. He struggled to explain himself better. "Actually, no, I'm pretty sure I didn't," Casey insisted firmly. "I would never—listen, it happened like this: One minute I was walking to Jezebel Plaza, in the daytime, next thing I know I wake up sitting against a tree, in the middle of the night, with..._this_...in my lap."

Levi's eyes were trained on Casey like sniper rifles. Casey could feel the laser beads on him, roving, trying to find the spot of susceptibility.

"I _swear,_" pleaded Casey with furrowed brows, "I only want to find this kid's parents and be done with it." Was this guy he just met a cop? He sure acted like one.

Though Levi wasn't quite sure how in the world the young man managed to get himself into such a situation, he was at a loss as to how it could have possibly happened. He had no choice but to give the benefit of a doubt. "Alright then," he said flatly after thoughtful delay. "I'll help you, if that's the case."

Casey's shoulders, stiff with the tensity of a high wire, relaxed a little bit. "Thank you. I actually really appreciate it, man."

"Any bottles, diapers, or binkies left with you?"

"No. No, I just found it wrapped in this blanket already."

"Hm." Levi nodded. "Then we should definitely take care of the little one first."

Casey nodded in full agreement.

"Levi Martin," he said, holding out his hand.

"Casey Glenn." Their handshake was brief, an almost non-existent one pump. "So where do you think we are?" asked Casey, tucking his arm back under the baby and eyeing the sky as if it were a mysterious dome entrapping them.

Levi placed his hands on his hips and looked skyward as well, though he was sure there were no answers to find suspended above the two—or three, rather, counting the mystery child. "Can't say. Don't recognize this place from anywhere in Gotham. Not that I know every neighborhood, though. Been trying to look for a street sign for the past ten minutes or so."

It was a lucky coincidence that he came upon the young man who also happened to be lost. At least he'd have an extra pair of eyes now.

Levi craned his neck and scanned their surroundings like he was looking over a tall, invisible fence. "I'm almost pretty sure we're in a residential zone, at least. There might be some houses around here. It's late, but I'm sure someone will understand if we explain ourselves and ask to use their phone."

Casey nodded, again in agreement.

Returning to the curb, the two wandered past a street lamp and onto an up-turning slope of grass in the direction of what Levi assumed to be someone's property. His intuition was correct—a modest bungalow with a wood-shingled roof and a quaint wrap-around porch appeared from the gloom and into his view. He noted the yard of dead, yellowed grass while crossing the premises to the porch steps. He was definitely in a neighborhood of some kind. One he certainly didn't live in, and one he'd certainly never seen, judging by the houses. He blinked several times, as if that would help clear the heavy mist still hovering about, but it still wasn't ready to lift just yet.

After hopping the three porch steps, he heard them creak behind him, signalling that Casey was right behind him.

Manners taught him better than to disturb neighborhood denizens so late at night and ask to borrow their phones, especially if it was his own fault how he found himself wandering around outdoors at such an hour, and he even felt the hesitation before he finally knocked. He'd seen war-torn territory, witnessed mushroom clouds erupt from buildings, been in tense situations that required split-second decisions, and yet he still feared what his mother say if news ever reached her about this night.

Nevertheless, he had to do it. He was already rehearsing his apology as he rapped his knuckles against the door.

Patience was only fair. Levi couldn't expect the house-owners to answer within a reasonable time. He knocked again after a proper lapse, letting the owners know it wasn't a one-off. He knew if it were his house he'd be mighty pissed somebody was making such a racket at an hour when the sun wouldn't dare show its face. But a lost child on the line more than justified his decision.

He thumped on the door again, more firmly this time, but not threateningly as to scare the inhabitants. Then again, the home-owner could call the police and cut out the middle-man...

Casey was rocking side-to-side, not at all to soothe the baby, but to restlessly wait it out and get rid of some tense energy.

Nobody showed up after a minute. Both men tensely anticipated a click of the deadbolt being removed any second, yet the door did not budge. Levi listened for footsteps signalling a peek through the living room window in order to spy on the intruders, but he didn't even see the old-fashioned white lace curtains stir.

The lack of wind made for an eerily silent atmosphere. Casey noticed it, too. It felt strange to not even sense a breeze tickling his ears, or slithering softly through his hair.

Levi shifted his feet just to make sure that his hearing was still as sharp as it ever was. He knocked a fourth time, extending it a few more repititions, trying to communicate the urgency. Stepping back and crossing his arms for another minute, he found he was staring so hard at the door that every fleck of chipped brown paint came into sharp focus.

"I don't think anybody's home," he said finally. "Vacation, maybe." He didn't want to sound defeated. There were more houses in the neighborhood.

"Yeah," said Casey, already turning to descend the porch steps.

Levi followed and they both crossed the foggy yard to the next yard to try their luck. A second house loomed from the mist. It's appearance confirmed this particular street _was_ a neighborhood, and it looked as though it was bordered by houses that all appeared the same if these two were anything to go by. Same bungalow style, same wrap-around porches, and same lamposts at even intervals before each property, standing like a guard.

Casey was doing his best not to show it, but he was getting rather impatient. The little baby was no more than a dozen or so pounds, yet every minute it remained in his arms the more burdensome it's weight seemed to be. Even though his arms were itching to do so, he knew he couldn't just hand the kid off to the first stranger he saw. But he also didn't want to be saddled with the responsibility to care for it. This Levi person seemed like a stand-up guy, but ten minutes wasn't enough time to determine the true measure and intent of a stranger. He wanted to be rid of the baby, but he wasn't heartless. Casey watched the door with rapt attention, praying that at least these owners were home.

The veranda stayed silent for the next tens of seconds. Not even a blinding porch light sprung to life, fluttering with busy moths. Levi knocked a few more times just for good measure, but Casey was already traveling to the living room window nearby. Same ugly lace curtains. Making sure the baby was cradled fully in the crook of one arm, he uncurled the other and shielded his eyes so as to peer better through the marginally grimy glass.

"Levi?" he said.

The other man was busy watching the door in puzzlement like it was a riddle to be solved. "Hm?"

"This house is empty."

"What?"

Levi strode up beside Casey and binocular-shaded his eyes to peek through the window, too. Casey was right. The open-layout room was indeed devoid of any furniture, not even quaint decorations expected of a house like that one. All that was left was just plain, exposed, dull hardwood flooring. Another window, this one curtainless, on the rightmost wall let in a tinge of the soapy-orange streetlight.

Levi pulled away. "Let's try the next one."

The third house was the same. They didn't even bother knocking on the fourth one's entrance, they went straight for the window. Empty. Just like the last. As a precaution, they retraced their steps across the last few frontyards, back to the original house they tried. They found it abandoned just like the others.

"Have we just been dumped onto a street under construction?" pondered Casey outloud.

"I don't think so," said Levi, gazing out into the weather-obscured night, "these houses look pretty old. The wood's almost rotten on some of these stairs."

"Then just where the hell are we?"

"Somewhere abandoned, I'm betting." Levi didn't like the implications of that. Kidnappers isolated their victims for a reason.

And just like so, Casey didn't seem quite so innocent to him anymore. Not that he believed the kid was responsible, and he was willing to give the benefit of a doubt, there was no proof after all, but if Casey had collectors chomping on his heels, Levi wanted no part in it. If he was just an innocent bystander who somehow got roped into some scheme that Casey was the target of, then he was not happy about it in the slightest. Was some money owed? Levi was certain he didn't have any outstanding debts, especially from shady dealers, unless his bank branch recently upped their collection procedure.

He stored that notion in the back of his mind for now. He didn't want to dwell on it, it would only cause him to jump to conclusions, but he nestled it into a small nook for later pondering. Just in case. Right now, the mystery of the innocent baby was his top priority. He could survive on his own. The little one could not.

"Maybe we should wait by the road," suggested Casey. "A car might pass by, we could ask for help then."

Levi was left without options, and he couldn't think of any better ones. Curb it was, then.

Casey lowered down on the grassy edge, seating himself on the concrete lip bordering the road. He gave his cramped arms a rest and balanced the majority of the baby's weight in his lap, careful to keep the head safely elevated and supported in the crook of his arm. His muscles were stiff from overcompensation. Babies were much too delicate, he was nervous that somehow he would get too comfortable and then accidently drop it.

Levi paced back and forth, keeping a look-out for headlights on either end of the street. The quiet was as stifling as the mist, but neither man felt much like having a conversation. Due to the fog's thickness, a car could pass before they even knew it. Staying alert was key.

At each passing minute, the fog seemed to be clearing little by little, though. Levi hadn't noticed at first, the change was so gradual, but he discovered during his next lap that he was granted the abilty to now see at least thirty feet away. The street almost looked like it was opening up. The rows of houses were dimly visible now, ghostly outlines.

"Give it time," said Casey, propping his chin up boredly with his free hand.

"Hello!?" Levi called into the darkness.

Casey winced. The call sounded so piercing after hearing nothing for so long.

"Somebody? We have a baby here. If anyone can hear me, please help!" Levi's neck chords strained with his pleas.

The night didn't answer.

"Guess we can't expect the construction crew to come, not until morning," offered Casey sullenly.

Levi wasn't listening. He had stopped pacing, and was squinting far into the tangerine oblivion. A strange, small shape could be seen dancing on the street's horizon. It wasn't a car. The erratic silhouette looked to have moving limbs. He thought it could have been an animal, but the movement wasn't coordinated enough. Even when frightened, animals displayed a type of grace and fluidity. This had to be human.

Casey rose onto his feet and met up with Levi side-by-side, squinting in the same direction. He had seen it, too.

The figure gradually grew clearer and larger—whoever it was was heading their way.

A woman. Hunched over and destitutely wandering. She wore an airy skirt that fluttered down to her ankles—and the fabric was busy. She was swivelling, pivoting, and twirling clumsily like she was part of some bizarre, acquired-taste performance piece. Her manner was very disoriented, like she was hopelessly lost.

Levi felt he needed to do something. "Hello?" he called, cupping his hands to carry his voice over. "Do you need any help?"

The woman's head snapped in their direction.

"Oh thank God, thank God!" they heard her broken, trembling voice. Hobbling as if overcome, she clumsily sprinted to them while holding up the hem of her billowy skirt, her bare feet loudly slapping the wet road. Casey pivoted slowly and presented his shoulder in her direction with unease, shielding the baby just in case. Levi stood solid, staring the girl down as she got closer.

Her run powered down as she met up with them, but her panting was heavy like she had torn through a marathon in just a couple minutes. Her expression was hysterical. "I-I need help, I need a phone," she managed to force out. Her chest was heaving, and she wouldn't stop shaking her head.

"Calm, down, calm down," urged Levi. He wanted to hold her shoulders to keep her still and support her, but he felt that it would only make her panic, considering they were strangers. "Just tell me your name."

"Dee—" she gasped another breath, placing a hand over her heart to steady it, "Deanna."

"Deanna who."

"Baumbach."

"Levi Martin. And this is Casey Glenn."

Casey nodded, though uncertainly, and was looking back and forth between the two.

Levi had hoped his stable tone and introduction would help the girl at least find some focus and clarity, but she couldn't seem to stop vibrating and darting her eyes, like she was in the middle of a frozen wilderness and wild dogs were slowly closing in. "Are you lost?" he asked her.

Deanna nodded desperately, her brows knitted. "I-I don't know where I am or how I ended up here. Get me out of here. Please! I need to go home. Right _now_." Her voice trailed off into a shuddery whisper, as if she was being timed on a clock and the seconds were about to tick to zero any second now.

Levi and Casey exchanged the same befuddled look. This strange woman's story was sounding awfully familiar.

"Alright, alright, just sit down and relax," said Levi soothingly to her. "We'll figure something out." Without touching her, he guided Deanna to sit on the curb. It took some coaxing, and it didn't seem like she was capable of sitting, she was too wound up, but finally, she lowered herself onto the curb and hugged her shins, burying her mouth into her knees.

Levi snuck a glance at his watch again. Time felt like it had at least passed an hour by now, he'd been wandering for some time.

Twelve midnight exactly.

* * *

**A/N: Would love to know what you all think so far :D**


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